


Soulmate Shorts

by cywscross



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Naruto, Teen Wolf (TV), 琅琊榜 | Nirvana in Fire (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Gen, M/M, Platonic Soulmates, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-14 18:19:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13595709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cywscross/pseuds/cywscross
Summary: Soulmate drabbles for whatever pairing pops into my mind, paired with a soulmate au prompt fromhereorhere.





	1. Nirvana in Fire: Lin Shu/Xiao Jingyan

**Author's Note:**

> I’m actually making an effort to keep them short this time. I need the practice.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Fandom:** Nirvana in Fire  
>  **Pairing:** Lin Shu | Mei Changsu | Su Zhe/Xiao Jingyan  
>  **Prompt:** The one where your soulmate’s ghost haunts you when they die.

 

After the massacre at Meiling Cliff, after his world falls apart, after Nihuang finally manages to stop crying on him and he’s been all but banished from court because he’s shouted himself hoarse defending his best friend in vain, Jingyan lies in his bedroll in his tent, waiting for someone he half-hopes, half-dreads might or might not come, and he thinks of four possibilities:

  1. Xiao Shu isn’t his soulmate and he’s not dead.
  2. Xiao Shu isn’t his soulmate and he _is_ dead.
  3. Xiao Shu _is_ his soulmate but he’s not dead.
  4. Xiao Shu is his soulmate and he’s dead.



The second would be unbearable so he clings to the other three.  Even if it’s the fourth, it might just kill a piece of him but at least he’ll see Xiao Shu again.  How long does it take for a soulmate’s ghost to appear anyway?  He knows there are records of them appearing within days to weeks to even months.  It’s only been two weeks since he found out, five weeks since the massacre took place.  And it would be just like Xiao Shu to make him wait.

Xiao Shu never does appear, not to him, not to Nihuang either.  She would’ve told him.

Twelve years later, he meets Mei Changsu.

Fourteen years, he sends him off to war.

Fifteen years, and he doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or cry more when he hears a familiar voice lamenting his battle strategies even as ghostly hands tighten possessively around his shoulders.

 


	2. Teen Wolf: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Fandom:** Teen Wolf  
>  **Pairing:** Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski  
>  **Prompt:** The one where your soulmate’s name is on one wrist and your enemy’s name is on the other and you have no clue which is which.

 

It takes a long time for Stiles to come to terms with it.  On hindsight, he thinks he had an inkling of the truth the first time Scott left him to fend for himself, left him behind for Allison, left him to Gerard’s mercy, left him drowning in a pool.  He just… couldn’t quite accept it, not when for most of his childhood, he was absolutely certain the _Scott McCall_ on his right wrist was his soulmate.  They meet in kindergarten, and they become fast friends.  Scott’s right wrist says _Allison Argent_ though.  It was a bit disappointing, but sometimes, soulmates aren’t reciprocated, and Scott promised him they would be brothers for life anyway so it didn’t matter.  They would be together even when they were all grown up.

Scott’s left wrist matched Stiles’ left wrist though - _Peter Hale_.

As children, both Stiles and Scott entertained fanciful ideas of the two of them becoming superheroes and fighting off supervillains, whose names were often Peter.  It made sense at the time, and it was in good fun.  At age four, five, six, Stiles couldn’t really imagine _hating_ anyone enough for them to be his _enemy_.

Then his mom gets sick, goes crazy, dies, and the world isn’t as nice anymore, isn’t as good-guys-vs.-bad-guys, isn’t as black-and-white.  Still, life goes on, Stiles bears the weight of her death and his father’s grief, and time passes.

When werewolves become a thing, and Peter Hale turns out to be the crazy out-of-control Alpha who bit Scott, it seems like fate.  Maybe it’s not superheroes and supervillains, but Peter’s still dangerous, he keeps going after Scott, and it’s only right for Scott and Stiles to stop him.

Then of course, Peter comes back from the dead, and at first, Stiles doesn’t understand why the werewolf keeps popping up wherever he happens to be - supermarket, bookstore, once memorably out of town when Stiles wants to buy a tome from a witch two counties over and nobody’s interested in coming except Peter who just shows up that morning in the driveway where Roscoe is parked.  The road trip is both uncomfortable and not, mostly because Peter is supposed to be his enemy, and yet Stiles finds himself bantering and snarking and laughing when Peter quips something particularly sharp and witty.  The werewolf tells him about various pieces of lore, and he listens when Stiles tells him random facts from his research binges, and it’s uncomfortable because it’s _not_.

They keep it up even after they get back, meeting up for research of course, but also for coffee and lunch and conversation in-between the insanity that is Beacon Hills.  And the more time he spends with Peter, the more arguments he and Scott have once Scott finally notices that Stiles doesn’t ask him to play video games or practice lacrosse or even just hang out together anymore.

The nogitsune happens.  Peter helps drag it out of him, and then plants himself at Stiles’ side in the aftermath no matter how many screaming nightmares Stiles gets.  Scott can barely even look at him during pack meetings, and the rest of the pack follow suit, avoiding him like the plague whenever they can, and criticizing how close Peter and Stiles have gotten when they’re in the loft together and _have_ to see Stiles.

The day Scott ambushes Peter with the rest of the pack in an attempt to lock him up in Eichen House because he thinks Peter is evil and a bad influence on Stiles (“He’s our enemy, Stiles!”), Stiles reacts before he can even think about it.  He doesn’t kill them, but the wolfsbane he sprays them with will have all the werewolves puking their guts up and out of commission for days.  Only Scott doesn’t immediately collapse, red eyes glaring furiously as he takes a staggering step forward before Stiles drops him with a whack to the head with his metal bat.  Kira’s smart enough not to charge him on her own, and he levels a gun on Lydia right up until he’s managed to get both himself and Peter out of the loft.  They leave, driving straight out of town with only the emergency bags at Peter’s apartment because apparently the werewolf knew which way the wind was blowing better even than Stiles did, and when they finally hole up in a hotel twelve hours later, Stiles wordlessly reaches for Peter’s wrists.  Peter says nothing either, just lets Stiles roll up his sleeves, and Stiles can’t say he’s surprised when he finds _Scott McCall_ on one wrist and _Mieczysław_ _Stilinski_ on the other.

When Stiles shows him his own, eyes stinging with tears even though it’s not even a shock anymore, even though _he’s been expecting this_ , Peter doesn’t gloat or offer to go kill Scott for him.  He simply gathers Stiles into his arms and doesn’t let go.

 


	3. Naruto: Nara Shikamaru/Haruno Sakura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Fandom:** Naruto  
>  **Pairing:** Nara Shikamaru/Haruno Sakura  
>  **Prompt:** The one where anything written on your skin appears on your soulmate’s skin as well.

 

The day Shikamaru - on a whim - scribbles the kanji for “pawn” on his forearm, seven and already bored from listening to Ino gushing about soulmates again, half-heartedly wondering how he’ll ever live with a soulmate if they _don’t_ like shogi, the last thing he expects is - after a few minutes - for a tentative question mark to form beside it, and then next to that a few seconds later “P-26” in delicate if a little clumsy script.  Definitely a girl’s hand but Shikamaru is far more interested in the meaning behind it, suddenly wide awake as a mental shogi board unfolds in his mind, and a single pawn on his opponent’s side is moved forward.  He grabs for his soulpen again, hastily erasing the “pawn” from before before jotting down “P-34” underneath his opponent’s first move.  It only takes a few seconds for “P-76” to appear, and Shikamaru grins and writes back “P-44”.

Back and forth they go.  Sometimes it’s seconds between moves, sometimes minutes, but his soulmate keeps up, and either she decided to dig out a shogi board the first time Shikamaru randomly wrote a shogi piece on his arm, or - as Shikamaru suspects (hopes) - she’s playing this game in her head just as he is.

Shikamaru’s long since tuned Ino out in favour of the game being played out on his skin so he doesn’t even register her loud complaint about him not listening to her before she falls silent with something like astonishment.  Nor does he notice when his dad enters the room and spots Shikamaru’s unwavering attention on his own arm, his eyebrows going up when he recognizes what his son is doing.

It takes Shikamaru two hours to win, and it’s _exhilarating_.  The only people who wants to play shogi with him at all are his dad and sometimes his other relatives.  He can beat most of the latter, and he loses every time to the former.  This is the first time he’s ever played anyone who seems to be about his level and actually makes him work at his strategies to pull a win.

He writes, “ _Again?”_ , only to get an apologetic _“Sorry, my mom’s calling me for dinner.”_ , right before his own mother whacks him lightly over the head.

“She’s right,” his mother scolds, even as an exasperated smile pulls at her mouth.  “It’s time for dinner so go wash up.  You can play with your soulmate again later.”

Shikamaru grumbles but gets up to do as he’s told.  He glances at his arm again to find _“Another time?”_ , and he’s pretty sure words can’t convey emotions but somehow, there’s something shy and hopeful and terribly uncertain about the question anyway.

So he quickly scribbles down _“Of course.”_ , and gets a smiley face in return.  Later, as he’s getting ready for bed, he erases the game and the conversation because he has class tomorrow and he probably shouldn’t go with his arms all marked up in black, but he keeps the smiley face, etched just below the crook of his elbow.

It takes him three months and a countless number of shogi games before he finds out who his soulmate is.  On hindsight, he could hit himself for being so stupid.  That pink-haired civilian girl in his class who keeps to herself and doesn’t have any friends and almost always stays in a teacher’s line of sight during recess and lunch to ward off the meaner girls in their year also has a collection of soulpens she likes to take out during break.  Shikamaru never really made the connection, too occupied with yet another shogi game with his soulmate, along with the occasional side of erratic conversation in-between, about how boring Shikamaru finds school to be, about the new bolts of pretty-patterned cloth her merchant parents brought back the other day.  Maybe that’s why Shikamaru doesn’t quite make the connection - in his mind, his soulmate is very much a civilian in a civilian trade.

And then one day, he’s mulling over his soulmate’s bishop position when a long jagged stroke cuts across their game, followed by _“UGLY FOREHEAD”_ in penmanship that’s definitely not his soulmate’s and a crude caricature of a face with a big forehead.  Shikamaru stares, unable to understand or even react for a long moment, and he only looks up when Ino leaps to her feet, already frowning indignantly, and Chouji tugs on his sleeve and points at a commotion that’s kicked up at the other side of the courtyard in an out of the way corner.  Ino starts marching over there, and they follow along, although Shikamaru is distracted by the words still scribbled on his arm, something like anger pulling tight in his chest.

Before he can write something in response though, they’ve reached the gang of girls all huddled together.  Ino’s shoving her way through without caring if she dumps anyone on their butts, and Shikamaru finds himself staring down at the pink-haired girl in his class, bright green eyes glossy with tears even as she fights like a hellcat against the three bigger girls pinning her down while a fourth - soulpen in hand - laughs cruelly and reaches out to write something on her arm.

Her arm, marked with shogi moves that match the ones on Shikamaru’s own arm, with that childish insult writ large from wrist to elbow.

Ino’s shouting, grabbing the nearest girl holding their victim down and practically ripping her away, snapping at her to get lost.  Chouji hovers nervously at his side, torn between helping and staying out of what might very well devolve into a brawl soon.  Writing on someone else, interfering with a soul connection like that, is practically taboo even if it’s not official law, certainly it’s something considered disgusting and rude, and Ino takes soulmates _very seriously_.

Shikamaru though.  Shikamaru sees nothing but his soulmate on the ground, crying and struggling, and he remembers all the times he’s overheard their classmates insulting her for her hair or her forehead or even her high test marks, remembers Ino complaining about it and wondering out loud if they should do something, remembers _not really caring himself_ , and he sees red.  He’s never hit a girl in his life, and he’s never been particularly violent either, but between one blink and the next, the purple-haired girl who was holding the soulpen - stolen from his soulmate no doubt - is sprawled a few feet away, mouth dropped open in a pained wail as she clutches at her ribs where Shikamaru kicked her and staring up at him with bewildered tears.

Shikamaru doesn’t spare her another second.  He turns back to the other two girls, who scramble back like they’ve been burned, leaving his soulmate free to push herself up, shaking and shrinking into herself, a scrape - probably from when she was attacked - is beading dots of blood on her cheek, and pain and humiliation paint red across her face.  She flinches when Shikamaru crouches down beside her, only to freeze when Shikamaru sticks out his arm and shows her the marks.  Ino gasps behind him, and Chouji makes a startled sound.

Then the teachers come running out to separate them, everyone is practically quarantined in the staffroom while parents are called, and Shikamaru’s glower dares anyone to try and make him budge from his soulmate’s - Sakura, he learns - side as she’s escorted to the nurse’s room for a plaster.

“I’m Shikamaru,” he offers lamely when they get a moment alone while the nurse ducks out.  It sounds stupid because he’s pretty sure Sakura knows who he is already - the hair is always a giveaway - and things like _sorry_ and _are you okay_ and _what do you need me to do_ flit through his head without ever making it out of his mouth.  He doesn’t know what the right thing to say here is so he focuses on gently erasing the insult from Sakura’s arm instead.

“I’m Sakura,” Sakura mumbles after a moment.  She ducks her head a little.  “Sorry.  I think- I might’ve gotten you in trouble.”

Which is just ridiculous, and Shikamaru scoffs before he can stop himself.  He ignores the way Sakura cringes from the noise and says instead, “It’s not your fault.  That girl shouldn’t have done that.  She deserved-” - _a lot worse_ , comes the unbidden thought. “-it.”

Sakura says nothing to that, but her shoulders look less tense, even when Shikamaru sits down beside her, their shoulders brushing.

“P-75,” He says after a few minutes, because he doesn’t know what else to do to make her feel better so maybe he can distract her with something she likes.

He catches a glimpse of a smile, so faint it’s almost not there, and he counts it as a win when she relaxes and even leans into him a little.

“K-42.”

 


	4. Teen Wolf: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Fandom:** Teen Wolf  
>  **Pairing:** Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski  
>  **Prompt:** The one where you have a timer on your wrist that counts down to when you meet your soulmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GDI THIS GOT LONG

 

Stiles doesn’t think about the timer on his wrist overly much.  He’s pretty sure nobody does.  Survival is a lot more important than all that idealistic flowery nonsense like love and romance and forever that he’s read of from the books he’s pilfered here and there over the years.  It’s every person for themselves in this world, and who’s to say your fated soulmate won’t stab you in the back at the first opportunity just so they can take your stuff?

Still, on occasion, in the dead of night when he’s hunkered down in some bolthole in the woods or abandoned building, he finds himself running fingers over the numbers and letters etched in his skin, sometimes ticking up, sometimes down, but always constantly changing.

The rest of the time though, his life is pretty routine.  He wakes when he wants, sleeps when he can, keeps himself on the move, and scrounges whatever he finds that might be useful to him in the short or long run.  In-between, he reads and rereads the few worn paperbacks he’s collected, plays cards with himself to keep his hands busy, rations carefully but still eats enough to keep up strength, and if he meets anyone or anything out to get him, his metal baseball bat Roscoe is always a faithful companion at his side.  Who needs soulmates when you have a weapon that never lets you down?

The day his timer reaches **_15h 13m 7s_** and counting, the closest it’s ever gotten to zero, Stiles doesn’t even notice at first.  He’s spent the last week trekking through woods and along empty roads; he’d very much like a shower that isn’t ice-cold and maybe an actual mattress if he can find one, so it’s a relief when he sees a few buildings rising up over the trees far in the distance.

It’s a town, he realizes once he gets there, largely abandoned by the looks of it, only populated by crawlers now.  Drifters like Stiles have probably come and gone but the place doesn’t look like it’s been taken over by one of the mercenary factions yet.  Those are always troublesome to deal with - their leaders are more often than not batshit insane and waving around a lot of guns, with trigger-happy followers who like to kill.  They call themselves hunters, from what Stiles has overheard.  Hunters of crawlers sounds great but these guys have always been more the hunters of _everything_ variety.  Stiles has seen - more than once - a bunch of them gunning down groups of fleeing men and women and even children for no reason at all.  He’s heard them laughing and calling their victims _dogs_ , as if they were hunting game, or putting down rabid animals, even though as far as Stiles could see, the people they hunted were perfectly coherent and alive.  Terrified, obviously, but still just normal people.  So Stiles wants nothing to do with hunters, and it’s good to see that this town is too quiet and dark for any group to have occupied it.  There’s usually a lot more fires lit otherwise.

He needs new shoes too, he thinks as he skirts around a big rectangular block of a building that’s lined with multiple doors on one side.  He knows from experience that there are rooms inside, mostly identical, with beds and bathrooms and even kitchens, but places like this are hard to defend if you don’t clear out the whole building first, and you never know if there might be a crawler or five behind one of those doors.  Sound carries through the walls too so there’s always the risk of attracting crawlers by turning on the shower or even just walking across the room, and next thing you know, the door or even a wall is being busted down, and you’re running for your life again.  Stiles speaks from experience.  He tried staying in this kind of building exactly once and it was once too many.  Actual houses are better; they’re smaller and easier to sweep, the walls are usually thick enough that you’d need to be deliberately making a lot of noise for something outside to hear, and there’s only so many entrances you have to watch out for.

Shoes tomorrow, he decides as he reaches what seems to be the housing district.  Rows of empty-looking houses stretch out in front of him, and there doesn’t even seem to be any crawlers around.  Perfect.

He picks a nondescript grey house to break into for the night, checking every room and even the clothing storages, hole-in-the-ground, and fridge.  You never know.

Once he’s satisfied the house is truly empty, he checks the fire grate and bathroom taps.  He gets lucky because there’s leftover wood and running water.  He washes up first, leaves his dirty clothes to soak, then starts a fire in the grate, digs out a bowl and some canned chowder, and heats that up.

It’s at this moment that the firelight dances over his wrist, and **_15h 13m 7s_** ends up catching Stiles’ startled eye.

Less than twenty-four hours.  Less than a day, and so long as nothing happens to change the course of things, Stiles will meet his soulmate.

It takes a fraction of that time for Stiles to dismiss the idea and go back to his dinner.

Soulmates.  What even is that?  Being soulmates didn’t prevent his mom from killing his dad, did it?

He piles cushions on the floor, wraps a clean blanket around himself, and picks up his chowder.  Like this, warm and clean and food in hand, Stiles can almost pretend he could stay like this forever.

Shoes tomorrow, and other supplies while he has the chance to get them.  Compared to that, soulmates don’t even make his list of priorities.

 

* * *

 

If anyone asks, Peter would say he doesn’t really care about soulmates either.

That is a lie.

He’s old enough to remember a time when soulmates were far more common and far more important, when the concept of finding your other half was something everyone hoped for, especially werewolves looking for their mates.  But he’s also old enough to acknowledge the fact that in the world they live in now, there’s very little chance of bumping into his soulmate.  Quite possibly, his soulmate doesn’t even understand the concept of _soulmates_.  Peter was already eighteen when his timer finally appeared on his wrist.  He was twenty-two when the world went to hell in a handbasket.  His soulmate would’ve been four.  He should probably count it a miracle that they managed to survive the first wave at all.

(That they’ve survived another twelve years must be a testament to their strength and will to live.  Peter’s soulmate is a survivor, just like him, and he can’t help but be proud of that, even if they’ve never met.)

He keeps an eye on his wrist throughout the years, if only to make sure his soulmate is still alive, so he’s very aware of the steady countdown of his timer over the past week and a half, and now - less than twenty-four hours left until he meets his soulmate - Peter lies awake in the dark of an abandoned warehouse, one that was used to store furniture no doubt because he’s had no trouble finding bedding, wondering what they might be like, wondering if they’ll want to know Peter at all.

He doesn’t often come back to Beacon Hills, ever since he woke up in the burnt remains of his pack house’s basement and had to slit the undead throats of almost every last one of his family.  He still doesn’t know why they didn’t eat him when they had the chance; they certainly went after him once he was up and able to fight back, but maybe he was so close to death while he was unconscious that they just didn’t bother.  He’s always survived long odds though.  Talia once called him a cockroach on two legs.

He stuck around long enough to get his bearings, and he waited for a good four months before packing up some essentials and striking off on his own when it became clear Talia and her two eldest were neither among the dead nor would they be coming back for him.  He was angry at first, but after twelve years, he doesn’t even really think about them anymore.  They’re either dead or not, and they either left him behind knowingly or not.  It hardly matters anymore.

He comes back to Beacon Hills every few years.  Instinct perhaps, or something in his blood that still draws him back to pack lands even now, even with no pack to speak of.  At least nobody else has tried to move in and take over.  It’s the one good thing about Beacon Hills - from what Peter’s managed to figure out, Beacon Hills was ground zero when the outbreak happened, and the Hale Pack was patient zero.  Nobody wants to settle here.

Hunters wanted a way to eradicate werewolves once and for all, a synthesized strain of wolfsbane that would rob a werewolf of their abilities, of the spark that made them werewolves.

Needless to say, they failed, and they didn’t just fail, they failed on a catastrophically global scale.  Peter might be tempted to applaud their truly spectacular fuck-up if the results were any less horrifying.

Peter was already making his way back to his hometown when his timer started ticking down again.  He reaches Beacon Hills with six days left.  He usually leaves again within two to three days but when his timer doesn’t reverse itself, he stays another day, then another, and another, and he thinks there’s a certain kind of humour in the increasingly likely fate of meeting his soulmate in the very town that saw to the end of the world.

He wonders what his soulmate will be like.

He wonders if they’re looking forward to meeting him too.

 

* * *

 

They bump into each other in the middle of an abandoned bookshop.  In another time, it would’ve seemed like the perfectly cliché first meeting for a pair of soulmates, the start of a perfect love story.

Of course, in their present reality, it’s nowhere near as romantic.

Peter’s there because he wants to exchange his current collection of books for new ones, and this shop was always a favourite of his despite the fact that the building is a crumbling ruin and it lacks both front windows and door.  The interior protects the texts well enough, and with every step he took in this direction, his timer continues spiralling down to zero.

On the other hand, Stiles is there because he found a new pair of lightweight boots - in preparation for winter - in the shoe store across the street, and he knew as soon as he caught a glimpse of bookshelves through the broken glass windows that he couldn’t leave without at least stepping inside.  His duffel bag is already crammed full with necessities and three of his favourite books, with honestly no room for more, but worst comes to worst and he finds something new that looks interesting enough to take with him, Stiles can always switch out one of them, however much it’ll pain him to do it.  He never leaves anything behind even if he plans to return, just in case he can’t, so all his meager belongings - from bag to coat to bat - are with him.  The sleeve of his jacket covers his timer, and he’s actually forgotten all about the impending meeting with his soulmate.

He’s already taken out eight crawlers in his search for new shoes, and he swings away at another lurking in the back of the shoe store.  He’s in the bookshop for all of five minutes before he hears the telltale shuffle of yet another crawler stumbling in his direction, and it doesn’t even make him flinch - he gets to his feet, shoves the book in his hands back onto the shelf, and waits until the lurching figure rounds the bookshelf.  No sooner does its rotted eyes land on Stiles than Stiles is already bringing his bat up and taking the thing’s head off with practiced ease, splattering bone and blood matter onto the floor even as he swings again and again until its head is little more than a motionless pile of black blood and grey flesh.

Stiles scowls at his bat.  He loves Roscoe but it’s very hard to keep it clean for more than a few hours at a time.

Something creaks behind him.  Stiles doesn’t hesitate.  He spins, adjusting his grip, and swings.

 

* * *

 

Peter ducks just in time, a grin of rare delight already spreading across his face as he meets the narrowed amber gaze staring straight at him, not a hint of hesitation in the way the boy pulls back for another attack.  He’s light on his feet, quick and graceful with the ease of veteran years of survival despite his youth, as proven when Peter watched him take down that crawler.  He’s pale and lithe, a little underweight but still strong, and magnificent in his unfaltering violence.

“Now, now, sweet boy,” Peter purrs before he can think better of it.  “Is that any way to greet your soulmate?”

The boy blinks.  And then swings again without missing a beat.  Peter dodges again, and when he looks around, his soulmate is no longer there, and the sound of running footsteps are rapidly fading from the shop.

Peter allows himself a moment of disappointment, but he can’t say he wasn’t expecting it.  It doesn’t look like his soulmate is travelling with anyone - he certainly doesn’t smell like more than one person - so he probably lost his parents a while ago and has no one else.  It’s not so surprising that he wouldn’t pause in the face of meeting Peter, but at the same time, Peter takes heart in the fact that the boy has chosen to run away.  He gets the sense that were Peter anybody else, the boy would’ve tried to take a couple more swings at him at the very least.  He seems the sort to prefer putting a more permanent end to anyone who lays eyes on him, crawler or otherwise, just in case it comes back to bite him in the ass later on.

Which is fantastic.  Peter is a firm believer of the same philosophy.  Now he just has to convince his soulmate to exempt him from that category.  And fortunately for him, the boy’s scent leaves a very straightforward trail for Peter to follow.

 

* * *

 

Stiles is… pretty sure he should’ve killed that man.  The only good stranger is a dead stranger after all.  Or something.  He can’t really remember Dad’s lectures on Stranger Danger anymore but it’s probably something along those lines.  If nothing else, it’s worked for him so far.

But at the mention of _soulmate_ , well, Stiles isn’t sure what happened.  One minute he was all set to beat the man to death before going back to his book-hunting, the next he’s leaving the man behind, feeling something unforgivably like panic as he does his best to put as much distance as possible between himself and that man.

He doesn’t stop running until he’s back in the relative safety of the house he found yesterday, and when he checks his wrist, a single **_0_** stares back at him.

It doesn’t matter.  Letting his soulmate close isn’t worth the risk of being betrayed later.  Stiles learned that when his mom went crazy and it had nothing to do with turning into a crawler, learned too when the first and only group of drifters he travelled with left him behind because they thought he couldn’t contribute anything after his parents died.

Being alone is much easier.

 

* * *

 

Peter tracks him down to a nondescript house, expertly breaks in, and almost gets clubbed over the head again.

His soulmate runs.  Peter follows.

And that pretty much sets the tone of their relationship for the next three months.

Sometimes, Peter tries to talk to the boy.  Most times, he only has time to focus on not getting killed.  But his soulmate runs and Peter follows.  He takes out any crawlers that would have to get past him to get to his soulmate.  His soulmate still takes out his own fair share.

“Quit following me!”  The boy yells at him three months in, the first time he speaks to Peter at all.  Stubborn thing, Peter’s soulmate.  It’s adorable.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, sweetheart,” Peter tells him cheerfully, greatly amused when the boy pulls a face at the endearment.  It lacks the icy heat of irritation though, which is just another sign that Peter’s successfully wearing him down.  These days, his soulmate doesn’t even try to kill him in earnest anymore, and just last week when Peter deliberately flashed his eyes and popped his claws in the boy’s line of sight, he had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes go wide with surprise, and for just a moment, his expression lost all signs of hostility, replaced by childish wonder and bright curiosity and a desire to _know_.

“I need to know your name to call you anything else,” Peter points out blithely.

The last time he asked for a name after introducing himself, his soulmate snapped back, “None of your business!”, and then tried to kill him.

This time, he huffs and crosses his arms and finally mutters sulkily, “Stiles.  My name’s Stiles.”

Peter beams.  He gets firewood chucked at his face for that but, well, it’s definitely improvement.

 

* * *

 

Stiles thinks it’s probably like having a dog.  Except his dog is human-shaped and more wolf than domesticated canine, and he’s persistent and annoying and kind of creepy… and smart and sarcastic and the claws are really cool too.

The thing is, Stiles _wants_ to trust Peter, which is arguably more dangerous than simply trusting him, period.  He’s given up on chasing the man away, still keeping him at arm’s length but resigning himself to sharing a fire with him at night and walking together during the day and just generally tolerating his presence instead of trying to get rid of him.

Because Peter… isn’t so bad.  Whenever they have access to a functioning kitchen, Peter starts guiding him through the simple recipes with just the things they find in abandoned supermarkets and meat they hunt in the wild.  He teaches Stiles that the hole-in-the-ground found in most houses are called cellars, and clothing storages are usually called closets.  He shows him his claws up close and tells him all about werewolves.  He teaches Stiles how to fight without his bat, and the faster Stiles picks up each move, the prouder Peter seems, laughing like it’s the best thing in the world when Stiles manages to land a hit.  Best of all, he lets Stiles read the books in his collection, most of which are texts on the supernatural.

…No, that’s not quite right.  Best of all, Peter is a constant presence at his side, and Stiles didn’t even realize he missed company until he finds himself turning around and _expecting_ Peter to be there.

A part of him is still waiting for the other shoe to drop.  In his experience, nothing ever goes right for long.  But he can’t quite bring himself to regret meeting his soulmate either, however accidental it was, and even though it’s probably a stupid thing to wish for, he hopes - just this once - he’ll be able to keep this.

 

* * *

 

The first thing Peter did after leaving Beacon Hills the first time was hunt down an Alpha and tear out their throat.  Without a pack, he needed all the power he could get, and he wasn’t inclined to trust anyone long enough to integrate with another pack, even if they would be willing to accept him.  But even with the Alpha spark coursing through his veins, weakness still tugged at him, never so much that it gave him too much trouble against anything he comes up against, but enough that it was always bothering him and made his wolf uneasy.

And then he met Stiles, and it was almost a shock how quickly his soulmate slotted into the empty space where his pack bonds used to be.  He’s anchored these days, and stronger for it.  Stiles is a delight to teach, and even more of a delight to talk to.  For someone who’s never attended a day of formal education, he’s whip-smart and soaks up knowledge like a sponge.  He’s practical and clever, and the day his first instinct is to jump between Peter and a crawler lunging for his unprotected back, Peter adds _loyal_ to his soulmate’s ever-growing portrait.

Sometimes, he catches Stiles watching him, scent going sour with anxiety, like he’s waiting for Peter to up and leave him behind.  One day, he’ll learn this too though - it doesn’t matter whether Stiles believes Peter will leave him or not; _Peter_ isn’t ever going to let Stiles go.

 


	5. HP: Bill Weasley/Harry Potter/Fleur Delacour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Fandom:** Harry Potter  
>  **Pairing:** Bill Weasley/Harry Potter/Fleur Delacour  
>  **Prompt:** The one where you don’t know your soulmate(s) until you touch them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FML THIS IS EVEN LONGER
> 
> Now I feel kinda bad since Silvertemper just complimented me on my short fics literally two days ago...
> 
> Ah well.
> 
> I shall try harder next prompt.
> 
> And to be fair, I have wanted to write this pairing for a long time now.

 

Harry finds Bill first.  He tumbles out of the fire and into the Weasleys’ kitchen the summer before his fourth year, and the moment he shakes Bill’s hand and feels that flood of warmth that he’s only ever heard other people talk about, he knows.

Bill knows too if the way his eyes go wide and his hand tightens briefly around Harry’s is anything to go by.  There’s no time to talk about it right then and there though, not with Mr. Weasley apparating home the next moment, angry at the twins’ prank on Dudley, and then Mrs. Weasley is there, and half the house devolves into a shouting match before Harry can get a word in edgewise.  He follows his friends upstairs, something cold ebbing into his chest as he leaves Bill behind even as his newly discovered soulmate remains a noticeably new presence at the back of his mind.

He spends dinner simultaneously sneaking glances at Bill and focusing very hard on his food, cycling through feelings of nervousness and excitement and shock and anxiety, half-doubting it happened at all and trying to figure out what the universe was thinking when it decided he and Bill - handsome and smart and _cool_ \- would be a good fit together.  His relatives certainly spent every available minute telling him that freaks like him probably don’t even have soulmates, and if he does, that soulmate would be horrified to be stuck with him.

He peeks over at Bill again, only to feel his cheeks grow hot when he finds the curse-breaker smiling warmly back at him.  He quickly ducks his head, and then regrets it just as fast.  Oh Merlin, what must Bill think of him if he doesn’t even have the social skills to return a smile?  How does he fix this?  How does he _do_ this?  He hasn’t the faintest clue.  Give him Voldemort any day; at least dark lords out to kill him is pretty much par for the course at this point.

Nobody notices the exchange, too busy discussing the Quidditch World Cup, and Harry would normally be all for joining in but he’s too distracted to do more than listen with half an ear.

They’re all hustled off to get ready for bed soon after they finish eating.  Harry doesn’t speak to Bill, doesn’t know how to approach him either.  He doesn’t say anything about their soulmate bond, partly because he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t just blurt it out, but also because Bill doesn’t say anything either.

Later, in bed, listening to Ron’s loud snores, Harry lets the insidious doubts creep into his mind.  It’s not even a surprise.  Part of him never thought he’d ever even find his soulmate, not really.  He’s Harry Potter.  Some people go their whole lives without meeting their soulmates, true, but it always seemed… extra true for him.  As if those other people don’t meet their soulmates because they’re simply unlucky, but Harry wouldn’t meet his because nobody would want to be stuck with him.  And then he entered the Wizarding World, and he started dreading the opposite as well, because even after two years at Hogwarts, he still had people throwing themselves at him last year, hoping to be the soulmate of _the_ Boy-Who-Lived, with all the fame and money that would come with the title.  He still remembers Ginny’s horrible disappointment when they first met, shy and stuttering around him but brushing up against him anyway, and more than once too as if she just needed a few more tries before the bond would show itself.  Third year was much the same, and not just Ginny either.  Soulbonds appear at first contact - everyone knows that - but there were still people who wanted to touch him more than once, _just in case_.

Bill didn’t make anything of it when they first met though, not at all like Ginny or even Ron.  He treated Harry like a normal person, shook his hand the way one would anybody else, and he didn’t bring up the Boy-Who-Lived even once.

_Still, what if Bill doesn’t want me for a soulmate?_

_He smiled at you earlier._

_He could’ve just been humouring me.  Being kind.  He seems kind.  But he’s, what, a decade older?  Already an adult with a job and a life and everything.  Maybe even a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, with looks like his.  What would he want with a kid?  Even the Boy-Who-Lived.  And if he does want me just for that, then that’s even worse than not wanting me at all._

He startles out of his thoughts when he hears a quiet knock at the door, followed by the squeak of it opening.  Harry sits up just as Bill ducks in, squinting in the dark as his sight adjusts before smiling again when he sees Harry awake.

“Hello Harry,” The curse-breaker whispers, although he needn’t have bothered.  Ron probably wouldn’t wake even if a bomb went off under his bed.  “I know it’s late but we didn’t get a chance to speak earlier.  Would you like to talk now?  Only if you want to of course.”

His first instinct is to say no.  He’s tired.  Maybe later.

 _Get a grip_ , Harry tells himself sternly, grasping at the part of him that let the Sorting Hat place him in Gryffindor, and nods.  It’s not cold so he doesn’t bother with a coat, following Bill downstairs and out to the garden behind the house.  The curse-breaker leads him to an out-of-the-way pond with a couple large boulders surrounding it for them to sit on.

“So,” Bill starts once they’re both perched on their makeshift seats, Harry feeling distinctly more awkward than Bill, who looks completely at ease with himself, the situation, and the world at large.  “Soulmates.  That was pretty surprising.”

“Yeah,” Harry says lamely, and then before he can lose his nerve, “But a good surprise?”

He hates himself for the question mark but Bill only grins in response, blue eyes bright under the moonlight, and wow, apparently _this_ is what attraction feels like.

“Very good,” Bill agrees.  “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a long time.”

Harry feels a flush creep up his neck.  “I’m… sorry?”

Bill looks amused this time even as he shakes his head.  “You could hardly help it.  I’m glad we’ve met now though.”  His head cocks in a thoughtful motion.  “I wasn’t sure if you wanted everyone to know so I didn’t say anything in front of the others earlier.  I don’t mind telling people, but if you want, we can keep it quiet too.  I understand there might be… excessive attention cast on you - or both of us actually - if our soulbond was made known.”

There’s something about Bill’s patient, matter-of-fact tone that settles some of Harry’s nerves, enough at least to let him relax a little.  “I-” He hesitates.  “I think I want to at least keep it from the general public.  People will definitely make a big deal out of it if they find out.  But you should at least tell your family.  I mean if you want to, of course.  But they’re your family so it should be up to you.”

“They’re my family,” Bill nods calmly.  “But you’re my soulmate.  And this is our soulbond we’re talking about.  It’s not just up to me.  If you’re not comfortable with telling people right away, then we won’t. Besides,” His expression turns rueful.  “I love my family, but Ron is prone to blurting out things he shouldn’t sometimes, Mum will want to brag to everyone, Dad might too, and as much as I hate to admit it, Percy’s exactly the sort to tell his employers about it if they happen to ask or if he thinks they’d be interested.  Not out of spite or a particular dislike for either of us, but Percy’s rather… ambitious, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, and the Ministry is always interested in the Boy-Who-Lived.”

Harry grimaces, because yeah, he can see that too.  “Then… maybe we can wait a little while?  I don’t want to keep it a secret forever or anything, but maybe, for now…”

Bill’s quirks a faint smile.  “Keep it between us?”  Harry nods, and something about the curse-breaker’s expression softens.  “I’d like that too actually.  I would very much like to get to know you before everyone else tries to stick their nose into our business.”

Harry flushes again, surprised and embarrassed and pleased all at once, floundering for something to say.  Bill just leans forward, propping his elbows on his thighs, eyes intent on Harry.  “So then?  Tell me about yourself.  You’re fourteen this year, aren’t you?”

Harry nods, latching onto the topic.  “Yes.  I’m Gryffindor, going into fourth year.  You’re…?”

Bill seems to understand because he’s quick to reveal, “Twenty-three.  Twenty-four in November.”  He studies Harry for a moment before assuring, “It’s not that great an age difference.  It might seem that way to muggles, or someone used to muggle standards, but wizards live longer lives, and there’s not even ten years between us.  Of course, I’d wait until you turned seventeen to pursue anything further than friendship, if we decide to pursue anything at all, but it isn’t something I mind overly much if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Harry, on his part, goes blotchy red all over again, and before he can stop himself, he’s slapped a hand over his face and groaned.  “Ugh, you can’t just _say_ things like that!”

When he lowers his hand, Bill is already grinning at him, and when Harry frowns suspiciously at him, he only remarks, “You know, I think I’m going to have a lot of fun teasing you.”

Harry splutters indignantly, which just makes the curse-breaker laugh.  He takes it all back.  Kind?  What kind?  Bill is evil incarnate.

But it serves nicely enough to rid the last of the tension between them, and before Harry knows it, he’s telling Bill about classroom mishaps and how he got onto the Quidditch team in his first year and the time he and Hermione and Ron contacted Charlie and smuggled an illegal baby dragon out of the school.  Bill in turn tells him about his job, about Egyptian culture and the excavations he’s been on, about the mastery in Runes he’ll be applying for next year.

“I wish I’d taken that instead,” Harry says wistfully, because even from the little Bill's explained to him, the curse-breaker makes Runes sound _fun_.  “I regret everything about Divination.   _Everything_.”

Bill snorts.  “Divination can’t be taught.  You either have the Sight or you don’t, and the class is really only useful for those who do.  I’ve never figured out why professors don’t tell students that.”  He pauses, considering something for a few seconds.  “I still have my Hogwarts texts for Ancient Runes.  You could give them a look-through, see how you really like it and how fast you can pick it up.  A lot of the basics is memorization and grammar, and you don’t really get into anything remotely advanced until fifth year.  If you find you want to drop Divination and transfer into fourth-year Ancient Runes, you’ll have to take a placement exam to qualify, but it wouldn’t be impossible.”

Harry can only stare for a long moment.  No one… No one’s ever really encouraged him to do something he _wants_ to do.  Hermione nags him to do _more_ and _better_ , the Dursleys forced him to do _worse_ , and not even his teachers care about what _he_ wants to do.  Even becoming Seeker wasn’t exactly his choice, no matter how much he enjoys the game and flying in general.

But Bill is asking.  Offering, but not pushing.  He’s leaving it for _Harry_ to decide.  Actually, he’s been leaving Harry’s decisions to Harry since their conversation started.

It’s probably why he doesn’t immediately refuse, doesn’t think of Ron and what his best friend might say if he took up Ancient Runes instead of sticking it out with him in Divination, doesn’t wonder if he’ll be able to do it either, only that he might want to at least give it a try.  That, and he doesn’t want Bill to think he’s too lazy to pursue something he might like.  Percy might be the one with the most ambition in the Weasley family, but clearly, Bill didn’t exactly skimp on the impressive career department either, and Harry _definitely_ doesn’t want his soulmate to think for even a moment that he’ll simply depend on his Boy-Who-Lived reputation to coast by after he graduates.

“Alright,” He says, nodding.  “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Bill promises, and he looks pleased, as if enticing Harry into Ancient Runes and possibly even Curse-Breaking is a great achievement in and of itself.

Bill, Harry muses with sudden clarity, honestly loves his job, but none of his siblings seem particularly interested in the subject.  Ron barely even knows what it entails, judging by the vague answers Harry’s gotten the few times he’s asked about his friend’s older brothers’ careers.  And Mrs. Weasley seemed rather disapproving of her eldest son’s lifestyle in general, from what Harry saw earlier.  So maybe Bill doesn’t get that many chances to talk about the things he likes with his family, and the thought makes Harry doubly determined to give Runes his best attempt at the very least.  If nothing else, he wants to know enough to be able to understand if Bill talks about it, even if the subject never becomes more than a passing interest.  That’s… Sharing interests is something soulmates do, isn’t it?  Something even just friends do, so soulmates certainly should as well.

By the time the first rays of dawn begin peeking over the treetops, they’ve both migrated onto the grass, shoulder to shoulder, bare feet dipping into the pond, and they’ve chatted the night away.  It’s the easiest first conversation Harry’s ever had with anyone, the most fun he’s had in what feels like a very long time too, and even as they both sneak back into the house and up the stairs to get a few hours of actual sleep before they’ll have to wake up for the day, Harry finds himself looking forward to spending more time with Bill again.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the summer goes about the same way.  There’s the Quidditch World Cup and the troubling appearance of Death Eaters.  But at breakfast the morning after their nighttime chat, Bill slides into the seat beside Harry before Ron’s even finished stumbling down the stairs, and he makes a point of casually striking up a discussion about Runes and Curse-Breaking, and it only seems natural when Bill suggests showing him some books on the subject.  Ron rolls his eyes a lot between mouthfuls of food, while Hermione looks faintly envious, but Bill doesn’t even glance over at her, and even Hermione’s love of knowledge can’t quite overcome how rudely awkward it would be if she just cut in and invited herself along when Bill is very obviously only asking Harry.

Harry tries not to feel too guiltily pleased even as he agrees.  There’s nothing wrong with wanting to hoard his soulmate’s time a little bit, is there?  Bill clearly doesn’t think so if the way he keeps up a steady stream of conversation with Harry all through breakfast is any indication, leaving everyone else little opportunity to draw Harry’s attention away to themselves, and maybe someone else would be annoyed but Harry finds himself anything but.  Besides, talking to Harry means nobody can pull _Bill’s_ attention away from him either.

It’s when he’s done eating and he’s moving towards the sink with his plate and cutlery that it happens - Ginny follows, and Harry’s already bracing himself even before she brushes up against him, their bare arms touching briefly even as she smiles up at him, no longer as shy but cheeks going a little pink nonetheless.  Harry smiles back politely and stands very still.  He’s always hated random people touching him but he’s taught himself not to flinch three months into his first year when people _still_ wouldn’t let up but a rumour started going around about how arrogant and rude he was, always moving away from a bond attempt like he thought he was above them.  So now, even though he never reciprocates, never presses back, and never attempts a touch himself, so long as they’re not too pushy about it, he’s learned to simply not move and let them finish and go on their way.  It usually never lasts longer than a few seconds anyway so he can tolerate it.

Except this time, Ginny’s not even finished fluttering her eyelashes when there’s a bang over by the dinner table, and she and Harry both jump at the noise, consequently separating them neatly.  Harry blinks when he finds Bill picking up a chair he apparently accidentally overturned and murmuring a sheepish apology to the room in general.  Nobody thinks much of it, and Harry’s the only one to see the way Bill frowns after his sister as Ginny continues on towards the sink.

“Dad bought her just about every Harry Potter book out there,” Bill tells him later in the privacy of his bedroom.  “As bedtime stories.  Ginny took them a little more seriously than just stories though.”

Harry tries not to grimace.  Every time he hears ‘Harry Potter book’, he gets the urge to set fire to the nearest bookstore.  And possibly start shouting at the nearest person available who actually believes that crap about him.  Still, this is Bill’s only sister, so he figures he should probably make it clear, “I’ve never… led her on or anything.  I mean I barely know her.  Not that I’d do anything even if I do get to know her.  I mean I have you.  Uh, not like that!  I _mean_ -”

His face feels like it’s on fire.  He’s never felt so out of his depth as he does in these moments.  Thankfully, Bill takes pity on him because his expression goes from pensive to amused and even a touch fond.  “Yes, Harry, I could see that.  Any fool could see how uncomfortable you were with her.”  His features sober a little.  “It’s good you don’t encourage her, and it’s decent of you to be nice about it, but she might take that as encouragement anyway.  Rebuffing her once and for all might be best.”  He shrugs.  “Or I could talk to her.”

Harry really does grimace this time.  “Wouldn’t that just make it seem like I tattled on her to her brother?  No, I’ll- I’ll talk to her.  Later.  If she’s getting her hopes up even when I’m not doing anything, then yeah, I probably should say something.”

Bill nods, and that’s it.  They go back to poring over _Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms_ and _Ancient Runes Made Easy_ , and Harry is genuinely surprised about how much he enjoys even just learning about the basics.  Aside from Lupin’s Defence class last year, Harry’s never actually _enjoyed_ any of his classes.  He likes some better than others, does better in some than others, but Ancient Runes just _makes sense_ in a way most of his subjects never have.

“You’re a natural,” Bill declares a couple days in, sounding astonished.  “I mean it, Harry.  I just showed you a basic interlocked rune and you deconstructed it on your first try.  That’s a _fifth-year_ requirement.”

Harry preens under the praise, even though he’s actually not quite sure what was so difficult about it.  But flying’s the only thing anybody’s ever told him he was talented at, and even then, they all contributed it to his father.  Because his father was good at it, it’s only natural that Harry is too.  So it’s… nice to hear he’s good at something else.  Bill doesn’t know a thing about James Potter so he literally can’t compare the two of them, and he’s been honest with Harry so far.  If he says Harry is good at this, then it must be true.

“You think I’ll pass the placement exam?”  He asks hopefully.  He’s made up his mind about transferring.  Attending class for something he actually likes as opposed to suffering through another year of Trelawney predicting how he’ll die every month is no choice at all.

“With flying colours,” Bill says without a hint of doubt.  “You have a decent memory too.  Just memorize the rest of this alphabet and you’ll do fine.”

Harry straightens with a determined nod and gets back to work.

 

* * *

 

Bill comes with them to the station on September first.  He hugs Ginny and ruffles Ron’s hair, and he flicks Fred and George on their foreheads and tells them not to get caught.  Then he waves a textbook around and pulls Harry aside, and nobody finds it too strange.  Bill’s been doing that for the entire duration of Harry’s stay.

“Here,” Bill hands him the book and Harry spots the letter sticking out between its pages.  “Babbling will be your teacher - just give that to her when you meet her.  It’s basically a run-down of what I know you’re capable of since the placement exam won’t cover it all.  Babbling likes assigning different workloads to her students depending on what level they’re at, and sometimes that includes the occasional side project for extra credit if you prove good enough.  She’ll know to keep an eye on you this way.”

Never has Harry heard that last sentence directed at him in a remotely good context until now.  It’s a novel experience.

“She’ll remember you?”  Harry asks as he tucks the book under one arm.

Bill blinks, then laughs outright.  “Well I certainly hope so.  Babbling held the records for highest scores in both O.W.L.- and N.E.W.T.-level Ancient Runes— until I took them from her of course.”

Harry gapes for a moment before shaking off his surprise, and his next words are out before he can bite them back.  “I’ll have to take them from you then.”

Bill’s eyes widen briefly, and then he grins, bright and open with a hint of challenge curling at the corners, and yeah, Harry can practically _feel_ a crush the size of Hogwarts manifest.

“You’ll have to work hard to make that happen,” Bill tells him.  “Six years, and not a single student has succeeded yet.”

He’ll just have to be the first then, Harry swears to himself as the train whistle blows, and Bill gives him a hand with his trunk.  He finds that he wants the curse-breaker to be proud of him, more than he’s ever wanted anyone to be proud of him before.  Literally everything he’s learned about his soulmate so far has all proven that Bill is genuinely amazing.  Harry very much wants Bill to think the same of him.

“You’ll write?”  He calls out through an open window over the noise of the train.

Bill falls back a step, hands in his pockets, and he gives Harry the same warm smile he did that first night at dinner in the Weasley household.

“I will,” Bill promises.  “Make sure you write me back.  I’ll be terribly upset if you forget about me.”

Harry grins and waves as the train begins pulling away, making sure to include Mrs. Weasley too when she makes her way over to join her son.  He only stops when they’re out of sight, and as he picks up his trunk to go find Ron and Hermione, he thinks this year will be better than the previous three.  It’s already off to a fantastic start after all.

 

* * *

 

Of course, because it’s Harry, the universe just has to make him regret his optimism.  He drops Divination and jumps straight into Ancient Runes, much to Hermione’s shock and Ron’s discontentment.  Hermione gets over it fast and begs to read at least a few of the books she’s seen Bill give him that aren’t on the school curriculum or in the library until he relents and hands one over (after asking Bill if it would be alright).  Ron on the other hand sulks for days, resentfully not talking to Harry most of the time and taking snide jabs at him the rest.  Harry adjusts to it pretty quickly; he witnessed it all last year when Ron treated Hermione the same way.  He explains to Ron that he’s interested in Runes and doesn’t want to put up with Trelawney anymore, and then he just ignores the other boy until Ron seems to realize that Harry really won’t transfer back no matter how long he gives him the silent treatment, and the next day, the redhead is more or less back to his usual self.

And then the Triwizard Tournament happens.  The whole school flips out.  People shout insults and sneer at him.  Some ask how he did it and get mad when he says he didn’t.  The Slytherins goad them all to further heights, and soon most of the student body - including Durmstrang and Beauxbatons - look at him like he’s the scum of the earth.  The professors do nothing to help either.  Snape treats him even worse than usual, never failing to bring up Harry’s supposed crime and arrogance at least once every class, and even Sprout ignores him when she can and treats him with icy disdain when she can’t.  The media smears him across their front pages like dung.  Worst of all, Ron calls him a liar and a backstabbing git and a bunch of other names that Harry tries to tune out.  He’s just as angry as Ron, and at least he has a good reason for it.  He doesn’t know if their friendship will ever be repaired.  He doesn’t know if he wants to repair it either.

(Sometimes, Harry thinks he could hate the whole world if he lets himself.  He thinks it would be very easy.)

Bill writes to him before Harry even gets his hands on some parchment, asking to meet on a Hogsmeade weekend.  He’s anxious and halfway to driving himself into a panic attack - _what if Bill hates him for this just like everyone else does?_ \- but as soon as they meet up in a remote location at the edge of Hogsmeade, Bill takes one look at him before enveloping him in a hug.  It’s the first time the curse-breaker has ever initiated this much physical contact with him, and Harry’s melting into it before he can even think to do otherwise.  He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t have to force himself to stay still and bear it.  This is Bill, after all.

“I’m taking you to Gringotts,” Bill says fiercely once they’re seated on a nearby bench and Harry’s told him in more detail about what happened, all while sharing the lunch Bill brought with him, chicken penne alfredo, still magically heated in their boxes.  Harry’s never had it before.  It tastes amazing.

“Gringotts?”

“Dumbledore, your magical guardian and Headmaster, two representatives from the Ministry, and several adults all witnessed _and agreed_ to your entry into a tournament specifically meant for adults,” Bill explains grimly.  “There’s a… certain kind of power in acknowledgement like that.  Your magical guardian and the Ministry are supposed to protect minors like you.  That they still pushed you into it without even attempting to look for an alternative option or even just telling you to show up for the tasks instead of actively participating, without offering you any help at all, it’s binding.  Magic _knows_ , and it’ll act accordingly to your situation.  You can’t back out now, not with a contract in place, but I’ll be damned if you’re not going to wring as much as you possibly can out of this mess.  If I’m right, you should be emancipated at this point.  A trip to Gringotts will clear things up.  And if you are emancipated, there are quite a few benefits that come with it, including doing magic outside of school, leaving school whenever you wish when you don’t have lessons, ” Bill slants an unreadable look at him.  “And you won’t have to go back to your relatives for the summer if you don’t want to.”

Harry goes still.  Bill nods like he’s confirmed something but - much to Harry’s relief - he doesn’t press or fuss or insist on talking about it.

“I’ll take you to Gringotts after we finish eating,” Bill repeats, with just the slightest lilt of a question at the end.

Harry nods.

“And Harry?”

When Harry glances up at him again, he almost startles back at the frost that seems to have turned the blue of Bill’s eyes to ice.

“Do you want me to talk to Ron?”

Harry stares for a minute, then huffs a laugh that doesn’t really feel like a laugh.  He looks down at his food and swallows back the acidic betrayal clogging his throat.

“No,” Harry decides.  “We’ll get over it or we won’t.  Anyway, he’s your brother.  I don’t want to make things… weird between you two.”

For the first time Harry’s known him, Bill actually looks a touch annoyed.  “You’re not responsible for potentially making anything ‘weird’, Harry.  Ron should know better.  And when he’s wrong, people should call him out on it, especially his family.  The only reason I’m asking you is because I thought you might want to confront him yourself.”

Harry fiddles with the container of pasta for a moment longer.  “It’s just… he’s my first friend.  And _your_ _brother_.  So…”

“Neither of those things mean you’re _obligated_ to forgive him,” Bill says calmly, with a certainty that brooks no argument.  “It might influence what you choose to do, but you shouldn’t forgive him _just because_ he’s your first friend or my family.  Any relationship goes both ways.  I know Ron is mostly reacting out of jealousy, and I can even understand why.  I think you do too.  But that’s not on you.  Understand?”

Harry can’t really find his voice to answer out loud.  But he nods jerkily to show he does, and Bill seems satisfied with that.  He has to wonder if the curse-breaker will write to Ron anyway.  After all, Bill didn’t say he _wouldn’t_.

 

* * *

 

Things get a little easier with time.  People still point and jeer and snub him, but Hermione’s a constant at his side, much to Ron’s increased ire, and Harry has Bill’s steady support as well, even if he isn’t there in person.  Gringotts has come through with all the correct papers and brand-new vault keys and free access to Harry’s family vaults when Harry proved able to wear the Potter lord ring.  Bill advised against spreading it around, and Harry agreed.  He doesn’t need more attention of the wrong kind, and he just knows someone somewhere will accuse him of entering the tournament for the purpose of getting himself emancipated.

There’s Sirius too but his godfather isn’t quite as easy to contact, and as much as Sirius might _want_ to help, there’s not really anything he can do.  Bill on the other hand - the next time they meet up again during a Hogsmeade weekend - greets him with another hug, and then tells him he managed to corner his brother Charlie and convince (“There might’ve been blackmail involved,” Bill admits shamelessly.) him to reveal what the First Task entails.

“Charlie’s visit was sudden,” Bill explains.  “At first, he wasn’t going to come home at all, even for the Quidditch World Cup.  Said he had too much to do at the Preserve.  Then he turns around a week later and said he was coming home after all, right after Dad told Mum and I about the Tournament this year.  So, probably, Charlie has a hand in it, and he does.”

Dragons, is what Bill tells him.  Harry spares a minute to wonder if this is how he’s going to die.  Bill doesn’t spare even that much, and they spend the rest of their time together researching wards that Harry would be able to pull off at his current skill level that might help him get past his dragon.

Harry spends a lot of time studying.  Hermione sits up with him late into the night, puzzling out the wards Bill showed him, and stubbornly sticking it out right alongside him even though they both start walking around with bags under their eyes.  Harry is more grateful for her than words can say, and after the First Task, he thinks he’ll ask Bill if it’s alright to tell her about their soulbond.

The day of the First Task, he sees Bill in the stands, wand in hand and looking more serious than Harry’s ever seen him as the dragons are brought into view.  But Harry aces the Hungarian Horntail thrown at him, whipping up a ward that’s only strong enough to paralyze the dragon for a handful of seconds, but a handful of seconds is all he needs as he summons his broom and comes back out with the golden egg in a record-breaking twenty seconds.

Everybody - except the Slytherins and probably Durmstrang and Beauxbatons - loves him again after that, but only Bill and Hermione’s heartfelt congratulations mean anything to him.  Ron slinks back into Harry’s life and waffles around an apology that he never actually says.  Harry remembers what Bill told him and accepts Ron’s not-apology, but he doesn’t forget, and they don’t go back to spending all their time together anymore.

 

* * *

 

The Yule Ball comes and goes.  Harry’s first thought was Bill, but that’s not possible of course, and it made him want to smack his forehead into the nearest wall.  Hermione was right there to witness his face turning red, and she had all the sympathy of a rock because she just laughed at him.

He writes to Bill about it - he doesn’t think he could bring himself to say it to the man’s face - and he’s pretty sure he manages to ask if it wouldn’t be weird with their soulbond _without_ seeming like he wants to ask _Bill_ to be his date.  At the very least, Bill doesn’t mention it in his response, simply advising him to take someone he’ll have fun with instead.

So he asks Hermione, but he tries to make it clear that if she has someone else she likes, she doesn’t have to agree.  Hermione rolls her eyes and agrees anyway, brightening even more when Harry offers to take her dress-shopping.

“I can meet Bill then too, right?  When you sneak off to see him?”

“I do _not-_ You’ve already met him anyway!”

“But not _as your soulmate._ ”

Hermione finds it all very romantic.  Harry regrets telling her.  Bill is just plain amused, especially after Hermione shoos Harry away for a few minutes for “a private word with your soulmate”.  He kind of wants to know what they said, but at the same time, he very much doesn’t.

It’s a relief to attend the Yule Ball with Hermione.  He doesn’t feel awkward or nervous around her, and she made sure he could dance before the actual ball so he doesn’t make a fool of himself.  He sees Ron sitting off to the side with one of the Patil twins but he doesn’t try to go over and talk to him.  Ron’s mad _again_ , storming around their dorm room and shooting Harry dirty looks the moment he heard that Harry asked someone.  Or maybe _who_ Harry asked.  Harry just feels tired even thinking about it, so he tries very hard not to.

He wakes the next day to the _Daily Prophet_ trumpeting about Hermione’s “secret relationship” with him while painting her as some kind of scarlet woman just because she was seen dancing with Fred and George and even Krum once at the Ball.  He catches Hermione blinking back tears, and before he can stop himself, he’s crumpled the newspaper in his hand and marched off with Hermione to eat in the kitchens instead.

He contacts Bill.  They sue the newspaper with all the weight of Harry’s name behind it, and maybe it’s partly because they caught them off-guard, because Harry’s never retaliated before, but within three days, the _Prophet_ has printed a retraction and an apology.  They still get fined, and Harry gives the money to Hermione, who hugs him, and then Bill when they see him next.

Despite the trouble, it’s been a good year.  It’s tradition for soulmates to exchange tokens of some sort, something that represents the gifter that the giftee would like, and apparently he and Bill both had the same idea of sending it for Christmas.  He gets a pair of gloves from Bill, made of a material that Harry can’t name, but they’re warm and flexible, in a very dark green colour, and with - as he discovers - a string of runes sewn on the inside of the cuffs in gold thread.  The first time Malfoy shoots a hex at him in the hallways and Harry instinctively raises a gloved hand to block his face from it because it’s coming at him too fast for him to pull out his own wand or even dodge, they both get a shock when the spell rebounds, and Malfoy ends up in the Hospital Wing with his whole face swollen like one big disgusting boil.

No matter what Bill says, Harry still doesn’t think he’s good enough at any one thing to make his gift solely out of it.  He’s progressing faster in Runes than any of his other classes, but compared to Bill, he’s still a novice.  So he thinks about it, for months, and finally, one night, he slips out under the cover of his Invisibility Cloak, makes his way down to the Chamber of Secrets, and retrieves a couple basilisk fangs.  The next night, he sneaks out again, this time to Gringotts where he pays the goblins with three of the fangs and whatever’s left of the fourth after they’ve carved a set of earrings and a bracelet from it.  He tells them the designs he wants, and he gets the package just in time to send to Bill for Christmas.  The earrings consist of a handful of fangs in slightly different sizes, each with a rune embedded inside to make sure they won't poison anyone unless Bill wants them to.  The bracelet is the same, although the bone itself has been set inside a metal casing that would slide open at the wearer’s command to reveal the wickedly sharp point inside.  Unlike Bill, he includes a note telling the curse-breaker what the material is - he doesn’t want Bill poisoning himself by accident.

He loves his gift, he wears his gloves everywhere now, and the letter he gets from Bill has him floating until after the New Year passes.

These days, he finds he doesn’t care so much about what the rest of the Wizarding World thinks of him anymore.  Hermione’s always been dependable, and Bill’s proven equally so.  That’s all Harry needs to ignore everyone else who doesn’t matter.

 

* * *

 

He meets Fleur in March.  Well no, obviously, he met Fleur back in November, for a certain definition of meeting.  His clearest memory of her is when she called him a “leetle boy”, and the few times he’s seen her, she always seemed to be looking down on everyone else.  But the frantic, almost hysterical way she rushes over to her sister’s side even while injured herself goes a long way to softening any fair or unfair feelings he might have regarding her character.

So he met her in November, but they touch for the first time in March after Pomfrey’s assured her five times that Gabrielle would be fine, and Gabrielle herself is more or less awake, if soaked to the bone.  Fleur turns to him next, open gratitude in every line of her face, and she’s babbling half in French but Harry gets the gist of it, so he only stumbles a little when she throws her arms around him and gives him a kiss on each cheek.

And then they both freeze like they’ve been turned to stone.

Harry almost chokes as the same surge of warmth he felt not even a year ago blooms in his chest now.  Fleur pulls back slowly, and when their eyes meet, he can tell she feels the same thing.  And just as it was with Bill, neither of them has time to speak before they’re interrupted, this time by Pomfrey who’s come over the fuss over Harry and Fleur some more.  Then Bagman starts announcing the results through the microphone, and any opportunity is lost, which is probably a good thing because he really doesn’t want to deal with a new soulbond in front of three schools and half the Ministry.

So he mouths ‘later’, and Fleur nods, still looking stunned, right before she and her sister are ushered away by her headmistress, and Harry numbly turns to make sure Hermione is okay.

 

* * *

 

Soulmates don’t always find each other.  They’re in the minority, but it’s not exactly _rare_.

Soulbonds with more than two people though?   _That’s_ rare.  Some people don’t even believe they exist, or they think it’s somehow less sacred than a pairbond.  Then there are people on the other side of the spectrum who believe it’s a gift from God or fate or whatever.

Harry remembers one discovered three-way bond being reported on the news for days.  Vernon called it an abomination.

 

* * *

 

The next Hogsmeade visit is the very next day, just in time for Harry to ask Dobby to smuggle a note to Fleur for him, asking her to meet him at the Hogsmeade entrance, preferably - he requests very politely - without her usual gaggle of friends.  He gets a reply back within ten minutes, agreeing to see him then.  Harry takes it as a good sign.

In the morning, Harry gets Hermione to distract Ron for him so that the redhead doesn’t try to follow, as he tends to do whenever Harry goes off on his own or with Hermione, and then he hurries to Hogsmeade, already second-guessing himself - everything from _what if Fleur doesn’t want to be stuck with him_ to _what if she doesn’t want a three-way bond_ , and worst of all, _what if she only wants Bill?_

Fleur is gorgeous.  Obviously.  And even just objectively speaking, Bill is just as good-looking.  Then there’s the fact that Fleur is already seventeen, and maybe age isn’t a big deal, but surely two people closer in age would have more in common.  Fleur was also chosen as the best and brightest of her school.  Harry was only picked because someone tricked the Cup.  He’s honestly not that smart, he’s still - in some ways - more muggle than wizard, he’s scruffy-looking and perpetually dressed in hand-me-downs two sizes too big for him, and he has a psychopathic serial killer after his head.

 _Harry_ wouldn’t want to be with Harry if there were options like Bill and Fleur.

The latter of whom comes into view, and Harry has to draw on his courage all over again just to force himself not to slow down.  It helps that Fleur’s face lights up when she sees him.  Her eyes are a darker blue than Bill’s, and her hair glints gold in the morning sunlight.  She’s dressed in Beauxbatons blue with a scarf wrapped around her neck.

“Hi,” He blurts out, and then wonders if there’s a handy cliff nearby for him to throw himself off of.

But Fleur doesn’t seem to find anything wrong, leaning down to kiss his cheeks again before greeting him, “Bonjour, ’Arry.”

Harry flushes and clears his throat before squaring his shoulders.  “So we’re soulmates.  I definitely wasn’t expecting that.”

“Neizzer was I,” Fleur admits.  “I half-zought my soulmate would be anuzzer veela, but I should’ve known - my muzzer and grandmuzzer and both my aunts all found human soulmates too.”  She pauses and studies him shrewdly.  “You are nervous.  Eez it me?  You are not affected by my allure - I noticed zat from ze very beginning.”  Her expression falls, and she looks slightly shamefaced.  “Eez it what I said when we first met?  I apoleegize.  I was angry, not so much at you and more at Hogwarts een general, zat ze hosting school would stoop to such means.”

“Ah, no!  I mean-” Harry waves a dismissive hand.  “It’s not that.  I’m over it.  It’s just… I already have a soulmate.”

Oh bollocks, he didn’t mean to just put it out there.  Fleur blinks, visibly confused, then a little hurt.  “You mean you do not believe we are…”

“No!”  Harry yelps, wincing at his own volume.  “No, no, what I _mean_ is, you’re my soulmate, I felt it yesterday, same as you, but Bill’s definitely my soulmate too.  I met him back in August.  So… I guess what I’m saying is, you two are probably soulmates as well.  We’re… probably a three-way bond.”

Fleur stares for a moment longer.  The hurt eases out, leaving something more thoughtful behind before that too gives way to a soft sort of wonder.  “Do you theenk so?  I ’ave only ever seen one uzzer three-way bond.  Eet eez very rare.  ’Oo eez zis Bill?  A schoolmate?”

“No, he graduated a while ago,” Harry says with some relief.  At least Fleur’s taking the news well.  “He’s twenty-four, a curse-breaker.  And that’s why I asked you to meet me here.  I’m supposed to meet him today, and… I didn’t have time to send an owl yesterday.  He would’ve come to watch me perform but he had work, and goblins don’t give random vacation days.  So we were going to meet today instead, and… I guess I was hoping you’d want to meet him too?”

“’Arry,” Fleur’s smile is warm, and it reminds him of Bill’s.  “I would love to meet him.”

 

* * *

 

It’s probably not fair to Bill to spring this on him, but then again, both of _them_ were sprung on Harry, and soulmates are supposed to be a surprise.  Bill is as shocked as Harry was, but after a moment of holding Fleur’s hand, he shakes himself out of it and smiles.  Fleur beams back, looking between Bill and Harry, like she can’t believe her eyes.

They get along about as well as Harry expected, which is to say like a house on fire.  But contrary to what Harry had spent the night half-convincing himself of, they don’t forget him or leave him behind or even treat him like the kid between two adults.  If anything, after an entire day spent together strolling along the edge of Hogsmeade and eating lunch in an out-of-the-way pub, Fleur declares with a gleam in her eyes, “Eet eez good zat 'Arry at least is still in school.  We shall be able to spend plenty of time togezzer.”

Harry isn’t even finished blushing when Bill narrows his eyes and retorts, “It’s a good thing I have seven months on you then.  And Harry always writes to me.”

“’Arry can write to me too!”  Fleur says indignantly, and Harry is abruptly treated to the strange sight of two supposed adults sniping at each other like children bickering over a favourite toy.  Maybe he should feel offended by that but all it does is make him laugh, which makes both his soulmates stop and blink over at him, surprised, then pleased.

 _This will work_ , Harry thinks, and he hopes - more than he’s ever hoped before, more than parents who would love him or a saviour who would rescue him from that cupboard under the stairs - that the universe will give him this one, just this once.

 

* * *

 

They don’t tell anyone that they’re soulmates.  Fleur thankfully understands the need for discretion.  Still, people are bound to notice them spending more time together, sometimes with Gabrielle - who adores Harry almost as much as she adores her sister - and Hermione - who’s happy for Harry and tentatively accepting of Fleur.

Fleur, as it turns out, is excellent at Charms, and the Beauxbatons curriculum - much to Hermione’s horror - is more in-depth than Hogwarts.  They end up spending a lot of time poring over Fleur’s textbooks.  Harry tends to get bored and goes back to his Runes, then even Fleur has to take a break, leaving Hermione to swim her way through the texts while Harry and Fleur spend the next few hours chatting about their respective lives or mock-duelling or flying when Harry can coax Fleur onto a broomstick or learning French.  Or in Fleur’s case, teaching it.

She was thrilled when Harry approached her about it, and she’s a patient teacher even when Harry fumbles over tenses and genders.  In turn, Harry tutors her in English.  She’s pretty decent at it already, honestly.  Certainly better than Harry is at French.

They meet up with Bill whenever they can, and Fleur takes to writing him just as much as Harry does.  It’s a slightly uncomfortable feeling, to be separated so soon after a bond has formed, but they make it work.

There are days Harry can’t believe he got so lucky.  Neither Bill nor Fleur ever treat him like he’s anything less than their equal, and he finds himself wishing the school year would never end.

 

* * *

 

But of course, end it does.  The Third Task arrives, Bill’s sitting in the stands this time, and Harry just wishes the whole blasted Tournament was over and done with.  He’s ten minutes into the maze when he hears Fleur scream, and he’s running in her direction before he can think, heart pounding in his chest.  He doesn’t turn more than two corners before he hits a dead-end, and for a split second, he thinks about setting the whole bloody maze on fire.  Anything to get him to Fleur.  But that might hurt her too, and she hasn’t screamed again so Harry can’t even be certain which way to run.

The best thing to do would be to get to the center as fast as possible.  Even if he doesn’t get the Cup, at least it’ll get him out of the maze, and then he can go see Fleur.  Surely a professor will know to cut in if she’s in serious trouble.

 _The Wizarding World lacks common sense though_.

He heads for what he hopes is the center.

That doesn’t turn out the way he wants either.

 

* * *

 

In the aftermath, Cedric is alive after Harry - wearing the gloves Bill gave him - catches the Killing Curse Wormtail throws at him and shoves him to the ground, where he falls on the Cup and is whisked back to Hogwarts.  Harry’s right glove doesn’t survive the Curse, disintegrating into ash and leaving his hand shredded and useless, but it worked that one time, and that was all Harry needed to save Cedric.

Voldemort is also alive, but thanks to Cedric, who starts yelling about graveyards and Killing Curses the moment he got back, at least managed to alert everyone that something had gone wrong.  Harry, tied to a tombstone and first watching Voldemort rise from the cauldron before being Crucio’d, feels an almost vicious tug in that place in his mind where his soulbond with Bill is anchored, and a moment later, the crack of an Apparate shatters the wards erected around the graveyard, and Bill, looking terrifying and dangerous and absolutely furious, appears in their midst so suddenly that nobody has time to react before Bill’s fired off a curse in Voldemort’s direction that literally takes off the Dark Lord’s wand arm, leaving him shrieking with pain and rage.  Another slash of Bill’s wand, and a shimmering ward springs to life between him and Harry and everyone else just as curses begin to fly in their direction, and then Bill is cutting him loose and pulling him close.

“Hang on!”  The curse-breaker barks, and then there’s another crack, and Harry finds himself back at Hogwarts, with people shouting over one another and Bill’s arms wrapped tightly around him.

Then there’s Crouch Jr. and Veritaserum and Dumbledore.  Harry’s pretty sure he collapses before he can get to the Hospital Wing because he doesn’t remember walking there himself.  But when he wakes up, both his soulmates are there.  Bill is sitting on one side of the bed, twirling his wand between his fingers, looking for all intents and purposes like he’s guarding them, while Fleur is slumped on the other, head pillowed on her arms, but she stirs almost immediately the second Harry makes to sit up.

“Everybody knows,” Bill tells him once they’ve filled Harry in on what’s been going on, how Cedric was alive and well, if a bit shaken, how everybody was too busy arguing to mount a rescue, how Bill stormed off himself to get Harry back.  There’s something terribly cold in his eyes when he slants a look at the door.  “It was the only way Dumbledore would let us in.  That old coot-” Harry gapes.  “-even had us swear an Oath about it, and he _still_ didn’t want to let us in.  Lucky Mum was here for the Task.  She walked in at the tail-end of our Oath while Dumbledore was trying to turn us away again.  Howlers’ got nothing on Mum, and yesterday was the first time I ever appreciated it.  But anyway, now everybody knows, and they’re more interested in our soulbond than the fact that Voldemort is back.  Most of them think it’s a Merlin-damned hoax, and you’re doing it for attention.  Oh yes, you decided to Crucio yourself just to get more _fame_.”

One of his boots thuds against a leg of Harry’s bed.  Fleur shoots him a sharp look.  “I understand your frustration, but calm yourself.  Harry’s just woken up.  His hands are still shaking.”

They are.  All his nerves feel jittery.  Probably because of the Cruciatus.  He remembers, abruptly, the way the spider twitched after Moody- no, Crouch, tortured it.

Bill closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and when he opens them again, he looks calmer.  “Sorry, Harry.”

Harry shakes his head, taking a few sips from the glass of water Fleur holds to his lips.

“Are _you_ alright?”  He croaks out in Fleur’s direction.  “I heard you scream in the maze.  I tried to get to you but-”

“I am well,” Fleur assures, folding her hands around his own.  “I was only Stunned.  Zat professor, ze one who was a polyjuiced Death Eater, I saw him a moment before he Stunned me.”  She scowls darkly.  “I am sure he could’ve done worse.”

Harry nods slowly.  He carefully turns his hands up and squeezes Fleur’s lightly.  At least that makes her smile.

To Bill, he says, because he just can’t not say it, “I can’t believe you cut off Voldemort’s arm.”

Bill scoffs derisively.  “ _I_ can’t believe I missed.  I was going to cut off his _head_.  But breaking through the wards with the soulbond had me more disoriented than I thought I would be.  My aim went wide.”

“You cut off his arm,” Harry repeats, because bloody hell, that was one of the most amazing things he’s ever seen.  Even Fleur’s nodding along approvingly.

This time, Bill grudgingly cracks a smirk.  “Yeah.  Yeah I did.  The Dark Arse deserved it.”

Harry splutters out a laugh of his own.  It’s a hoarse sound, and it rasps against his throat, but Fleur is here and Bill is here, and he’d rather be laughing with them than brooding over Voldemort’s return.

Still, he thinks, some things have to be said, and the sooner the better.

“He _is_ back,” Harry says quietly.  “And… I’d understand if you don’t want to… see me anymore.”

Fleur sits up, frowning.  “’Arry-”

“He’s not going to stop coming after me,” Harry forges on doggedly.  “He’ll keep trying until I’m dead or he’s dead.  And then there’s the public thinking I’m lying again, and if you’re associated with me-”

“Don’t be stupid,” Bill cuts in with a harshness that doesn’t match the way he too reaches out and covers both his and Fleur’s hands with his own.  “As you said, I cut off Voldemort’s arm.  Does the Dark Lord seem like someone who’s going to take that lying down?  He’ll want to kill me too.  He’ll want to kill my entire family for being blood traitors, and the public will condemn me just as much as they will you because _I’ve_ been telling them Voldemort is back as well.  The only thing that will happen if I reject our bond is make both of us bloody miserable.  So don’t be stupid.  I’m with you no matter what happens.”

“I as well,” Fleur interjects fiercely, and there’s a flash of something Other in her eyes and the lines of her face.  “I am with you, both of you, to ze end.  In fact, I was planning to ask before, and Maman et Papa have already agreed - come home with me for ze summer.  My family’s estate eez old; eet ’as some of ze best wards in ze country so you will be protected.  And you are emancipated, oui?  So you can come and go as you please.  I know you must come back for ze school year, but you can spend ze summer with my family.  I ’ave already asked Bill, and ’e says ’e will come if you do.  If Britain weeshes to talk about us, let them talk.  You need not listen to any of zair gossip.”

Harry… wants to.  The _yes_ is on the tip of his tongue, and only years of minding his words stop him from actually saying it out loud, at least until he glances at Bill, who shrugs.  “The goblins are lightening my workload for the year - long-distance stuff only.  I can study for my mastery in France just as well as I can in Britain.”

Harry _wants to_.  But- “I...”

It’s not very responsible, is it?  What about Sirius?  He still hasn’t told his soulmates about him.  What about Dumbledore?  Somehow, he has a hard time seeing the Headmaster letting him run off to France with Voldemort back and Britain hurtling into another war.

But what business is it of his anyway?  What’s Harry supposed to do even if he stays?  It’ll just be for the summer anyway.  Maybe the public will call him a coward, say he’s running away.  But who cares?  Certainly not Harry.  Children and adults alike have hated him for something or other literally every single year since he started attending Hogwarts.  This will just be another thing.

“’Arry,” Fleur says sternly.  “Say yes.”

Harry snorts, and like a popped balloon, all the tension in his shoulders seep out of him.  “Fine, yes, alright.”  It’s with more than a little disbelief that he says, “Let’s go to France for the summer.”

He’s never been anywhere for anything in the summer, never allowed to go anywhere except where other people tell him to, and suddenly, there’s nothing more he wants than to take a vacation in a different country with his two soulmates.

Fleur grins at him from his right, and Bill nods, satisfied, on his left.  “Good.  That’s decided then.”

Harry doesn’t stay awake for much longer after that.  His eyelids droop, and he finds himself falling asleep to the murmur of Bill and Fleur’s voices over him.

They never let go of his hands.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out this fanart for the last scene: http://romanticdestruction.tumblr.com/post/171159958776/made-for-cywscrosss-soulmate-shorts-she-is-an


	6. Teen Wolf: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Fandom:** Teen Wolf  
>  **Pairing:** Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski  
>  **Prompt:** The one where soulmates can heal each other’s injuries.

 

It was Dad who came home at the end of a very long two weeks from ( _avoiding Stileshomeeverything_ ) cleaning up the fallout of the fire that killed most of the Hales last Saturday who told him, hesitantly, reluctantly, like he thought it would’ve been better to keep it from Stiles.  But he told him anyway, and Stiles thinks that was enough to forgive him for never being around.

He’s been parked here ever since, at the bedside of a man who wears Stiles’ name.  It’s on his right side, printed over his ribs, and the _Mie-_ is distorted by his injuries, but the _-_ _czysław_ is clear, and how many other _-czysław_ has _Peter_ etched along their own collarbone?

Besides, Stiles can already see signs of some healing.  The doctors were relieved when they found out Peter’s soulmate was so close by, although for a good few days, nobody could say for certain whether Peter would pull through even with a newly formed soulbond in place.  But it’s been almost a month now, Stiles’ soulmate is still alive, and some of the previously blackened flesh along his right is now the pink of new skin.

Stiles has been exempted from both visiting hours and school.  He still has to do the homework, but law says since his soulmate legitimately needs him in order to heal, Stiles gets to stay with him however much he wants, so long as he has parental permission because he’s still a minor.

It doesn’t really matter to him whether he has parental permission or not.  It’s not like his dad can force him to school, not when they didn’t see each other four days out of seven anyway before Stiles discovered his soulmate, and his dad knows it.  Even less now that Stiles spends so much time in the hospital.  The Sheriff’s never done well sitting at a sickbed.

So Stiles gets his homework emailed to him, and he hands it in the same way.  He goes home for food and showers and fresh clothes and the occasional nap, does the laundry and goes grocery shopping too because he knows if he doesn’t do it, nobody will, and on occasion, he steps out for some fresh air, but otherwise, he does everything from reading to eating to sleeping to playing video games or watching a movie in Peter’s hospital room.

This is his soulmate after all, so badly injured he hasn’t even twitched in all this time despite the amount of pain he must be in.  How can Stiles stay away?

 

* * *

 

Still, it takes a full year before Peter even stirs.  Which isn’t to say he wasn’t slowly becoming aware of what was going on around him before that of course.  He drowned, at first, in the agony of lost pack bonds, and for a while, he thought his penance for not being able to save them would be burning forever when the pain went on and on without mercy, eating away at his flesh until he was sure there couldn’t possibly be anything left for it to devour.

And then the pain began to ease, so slowly that Peter couldn’t even tell the difference at first.  But one day, when his mind felt less splintered, and the darkness was neither red-tinted nor so deep he thought he’d fall into it and never stop, something at the edge of his senses drew his attention, something new and bright, something solid enough for him to focus on.  It was like a pack bond but not, and it took him a pathetically long time to realize what it was - a soulbond.

His wolf was faster to act than he was.  It lunged for that thread of light and refused to let go even when Peter hung back warily.  When Peter finally realized what it was though, he clung just as fiercely.  He doesn’t know how, but his soulmate came and found him when he was at his weakest, and Peter hoped desperately that they wouldn’t leave as well.

They don’t leave.  They’re here day in and day out, and not even just in the figurative sense.  As the pain ebbs and Peter regains more of his awareness of the world, he realizes that his soulmate is almost always at Peter’s side, holding his hand or chattering away about things Peter can’t quite understand yet or curling up like a cat beside him.  Young, by the sound and size of him, but loyal.  The few times they aren’t doing any of those things, Peter can still feel the bond holding steady between them.

 _Mieczysław_ , he recalls eventually.   _His soulmate’s name is Mieczysław, written down the ladder of his ribs._

(He used to scoff at soulbonds, at soulmates in general, just like the rest of his pack.  What use is a soulmate to a werewolf when a werewolf can already naturally do what a soulmate can?  Why bother looking for that ‘special someone’ and taking the time to introduce them to the supernatural and babying them through it all?  There were no soulmate pairs in his pack, and he’d never heard of a werewolf having a werewolf soulmate, only ever human, and even then only rarely.  More often than not, because werewolves keep to themselves, and even the humans born from werewolves usually took the bite or largely stayed away from other humans, they never get the chance to stumble on their soulmate, nor do they feel the inclination to find them.  Soulmates are a human concept, a human’s desperate attempt to be _more_ than they are, and obviously beneath werewolves.

But it’s Peter’s soulmate who’s helping him heal now, Peter’s soulmate who _came_ and _stayed_ , Peter’s soulmate who cares.  And he can’t find it in himself to be anything but grateful to have been so wrong once upon a time.  It doesn’t matter that his soulmate is human.  It only matters that he’s here.)

It becomes something Peter starts looking forward to, straining towards that light now that he knows someone is waiting for him.  It still takes him far too long, in his opinion, even if he has no idea exactly how much time has passed.  He tries his best though, tries to wake up, tries to urge his healing along, and he hopes his soulmate knows that.

 

* * *

 

Stiles delights in the way Peter’s hand sometimes squeezes his back if he holds on long enough.  His own hands feel small when he curls them around Peter’s, and he can’t wait to grow up some more.  A part of him worries that his soulmate might not want to have to deal with a kid.

Other times, when he goes off on a tangent, rambling about the movie he just watched or adding his own comments to whatever book he’s reading Peter at the time, Peter’s head will turn in his direction, like he’s actually listening.  Stiles hopes he is, or if he isn’t, then maybe just the sound of Stiles’ voice gives the man a distraction from the pain.

By the ten-month mark, most of Peter’s burns are healed.  He still hasn’t woken, but a nurse told Stiles that sometimes, the mind takes more time to get better than the body.  So Stiles waits.  He’s good at that, patient in a way most kids his age aren’t because he had to learn before Peter, when he stayed up late every night waiting for his dad to come home, and even back when his mom was still alive, when she got violent and Stiles had to wait out her spells, or when she slept and Stiles had to wait for her to wake up, or even when everybody assured him she would get better and he waited for that to happen too.

The doctors tell him Peter will get better as well.  Stiles hopes this time they’re telling the truth.

 

* * *

 

He opens his eyes one day to white walls and weak sunlight filtering through drawn curtains.  The room sharpens as his eyesight adjusts, and gradually, he becomes aware of the warm body curled up next to his, head resting against his hip, breaths deep and even with sleep.  The bed is large enough to accomodate for two apparently.

Peter’s too weak to lift his head and look down, but he forces his arm to move until his fingers brush against soft hair and a smooth neck and the cotton of what must be the hood of a sweater.  Shakily, he runs a hand over the curve of that head before his strength gives out again, and he ends up resting his palm against a thin shoulder.

This is his soulmate.  Peter knows it down to his bones, knows that familiar scent of youth and storms and a dash of medicine, knows his presence even without being able to see him.

He doesn’t stay awake much longer than that, but even as he drifts back to sleep, it’s with the certainty of knowing he’ll wake up again with his soulmate at his side.

 

* * *

 

The day they finally meet for real, Stiles is grumbling about Jackson Whittemore, who tripped him in the hallway at school when he went in for his final exams earlier today.

“He said you aren’t real,” Stiles scowls, lounging at the foot of Peter’s bed today, back against the bed railing, one hand curled around Peter’s blanket-covered ankle.  “He said Dad pulled me outta school cuz I was too stupid to attend.  What does he know?  He’s just finishing his first year in middle school.  I’m about to enter _high_ school.”  His shoulders slump a bit.  “Everybody just stared and laughed though, when I fell.  I mean I guess that’s not surprising since nobody really knows me, but I don’t remember everyone being a- a _Jackson groupie_.”

“School is often a popularity contest,” A voice rasps, and Stiles’ head jerks up and around to find half-mast blue eyes watching him.  “They follow the kid who stands out most and can throw their weight around most, just to be popular by association.  I find such sheep not worth the time of day.”

Stiles gapes for a long moment before scrambling off the bed and bursting out, “Peter!  You’re awake!”

He watches with a thrilled sort of disbelief as Peter smiles at him, a little tired but genuine, and even better, there’s recognition when he looks at Stiles, like he already knows him.

Maybe all that talking and reading out loud really did help.

“Mieczysław, right?”  Peter asks, and Stiles blinks in surprise at the mostly perfect pronunciation, with only the slightest hint of a stumble.

“Um, yeah,” Stiles bobs his head.  “But you can call me Stiles.  Everybody does.”

His soulmate’s hand lifts a little, palm up, and Stiles automatically reaches out to take it.

“But which do you prefer?”  Peter asks instead, and Stiles clutches at his hand a little tighter, something warm unfurling in his chest, because nobody’s ever _asked_ before.

“Stiles is fine,” He assures, and then lets go of his hand only to bounce onto the bed and give into the urge to throw his arms around his soulmate instead.  “Thank you for waking up.”

It takes a moment for Peter to wrap an arm around Stiles’ back, fumbling a little, movements clumsy, but when he does, his grip is just as tight as Stiles’.

“Thank you for waiting.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't like this one as much. It came out very... generic? Is that the word for it? I just feel like I rewrote a very common plot with slightly different wording. Might've gotten better if I went on and wrote Peter back on his feet and realizing just how isolated Stiles has become because the law in place for injured soulmates is well-meaning but sometimes doesn't take stuff like social skills and development into account because it's not usually an issue since if a minor is involved, either they wouldn't have the focus or interest to stay by their soulmate so closely or parents would step in before it got too bad, but this is Stiles who never learned moderation when it comes to the people he decides to care about, and the sheriff was already leaving Stiles to his own devices even before the soulmate revelation. So Peter ends up trying to Fix Things, but in his own very possessive slightly creeperwolf _my soulmate mine_ way and Stiles totally not understanding why Peter thinks it's such a big deal, and so on and so forth. But that would've gotten way too long and the point of these is supposed to be short, so this is where i end it.


End file.
